I were ever so well, I should not think it right to
marry. I shall not shun the sight of him; it
is delightful to me, and a less painful cure to him
than sending him away would be. It is in the
nature of things that he should cool into a friendly
kindly feeling, and I shall try to bear it.
Or if he does marry, it will be all right I suppose—”
but her voice faltered, and she gave a sort of broken
laugh.
“There,” she said, with a recovered flash
of liveliness, “there’s my resolution,
to do what I like more than anything in the world as
long as I can; and when it is over I shall be helped
to do without it!”
“I can’t believe—” broke
out Alison.
“Not in your heart, but in your reason,”
said Ermine, endeavouring to smile. “He
will hover about here, and always be kind, loving,
considerate; but a time will come that he will want
the home happiness I cannot give. Then he will
not wear out his affection on the impossible literary
cripple, but begin over again, and be happy.
And, Alison, if your love for me is of the sound, strong
sort I know it is, you will help me through with it,
and never say one word to make all this less easy
and obvious to him.”
WAITNG FOR ROSE
“Not envy, sure! for if you gave me
Leave to take or to refuse
In earnest, do you think I’d choose
That sort of new love to enslave me?”—R.
Browning.
So, instead of going to Belfast, here was Colonel
Keith actually taking a lodging and settling himself
into it; nay, even going over to Avoncester on a horse-buying
expedition, not merely for the Temples, but for himself.
This time Rachel did think herself sure of Miss Williams’
ear in peace, and came down on her with two fat manuscripts
upon Human Reeds and Military Society, preluding,
however, by bitter complaints of the “Traveller”
for never having vouchsafed her an answer, nor having
even restored “Curatocult,” though she
had written three times, and sent a directed envelope
and stamps for the purpose. The paper must be
ruined by so discourteous an editor, indeed she had
not been nearly so much interested as usual by the
last few numbers. If only she could get her
paper back, she should try the “Englishwoman’s
Hobby-horse,” or some other paper of more progress
than that “Traveller.” “Is
it not very hard to feel one’s self shut out
from the main stream of the work of the world when
one’s heart is burning?”
“I think you overrate the satisfaction.”
“You can’t tell! You are contented
with that sort of home peaceful sunshine that I know
suffices many. Even intellectual as you are,
you can’t tell what it is to feel power within,
to strain at the leash, and see others in the race.”
“I was thinking whether you could not make an
acceptable paper on the lace system, which you really
know so thoroughly.”
